


Britta's Apartment Revisited

by hardlyawake



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Other Characters Are Mentioned, i never got around to posting this when it was still seasonal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29395476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyawake/pseuds/hardlyawake
Summary: “Yes, Jeff.” Britta replied in exasperation. “Fucking-- duh, I’m in love with you. You’re in my bed.”Jeff was stopped mid-motion by Britta grabbing his arm. “Do not fist-pump that.”-A post-season 6 holiday fic wherein Britta gets stood up, Jeff scores a sweet deal, and they both suck at orthodox love confessions.
Relationships: Britta Perry/Jeff Winger
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	Britta's Apartment Revisited

In retrospect, Britta couldn’t think of anything more quintessentially  _ Britta _ than being stood up for a date the night after Christmas. Bonus points for sitting alone in the bar for an hour past their meeting time, debating whether she should call a friend. Bonus-bonus points for Jeff waltzing in like a semi-alcoholic Christmas angel, and being extremely patient when Britta ran to hug him way tighter than normal.

He barely got in a “Fancy meeting you h—“ before he was met with an armful of slightly bummed best friend.

“You okay?” Jeff mumbled against her. He squeezed her back, offering a polite smile to the couple of bargoers ogling them.

Britta managed a smile and nodded, pulling back. “I just didn’t expect to see you here.” 

Jeff chuckled wryly. “Me neither. I just got back from the hometown—“ He glanced at his watch, “Two hours ago.”

“Yeesh, and you’re already at the bar,” Britta replied. She led Jeff to her vacant pair of spots at the bar, motioning for him to sit where the guy from Tinder would have. “That bad?”

Jeff nodded to her. “As it turns out, the death of Diabetic Dave leaves  _ me _ as the least impressive member of my mom’s family.”

“Jeff,” Britta started sympathetically, before catching herself and frowning, “I can’t believe you’re still calling him Diabetic Dave. What happened to respect for the dead?”

Jeff grinned, paused to order a drink, and turned back to Britta. “My respect for the dead died the day I received a can of crypto-frozen sperm.”

Ignoring the bewildered look from the man sitting next to them, Britta shrugged. “What was he, your uncle?”

“Great uncle,” Jeff corrected. He drummed his fingertips on the bar. “He worked at a dairy plant.”

“Oh,” Britta said. She made a face which clearly suggested she was swallowing down some vegan rant and instead replied, “That made him least impressive?”

“No,” Jeff continued, gratefully accepting his drink. After a sip, he explained, “It was his first job. He worked at that place everyday — no joke — for forty-five  _ years _ .”

“Damn,” Britta replied. “So your whole life, then?”

Jeff glowered and flipped Britta the bird. “I am not forty-five yet.”

“Tick tok, tick tok,” Britta chimed as casually as she could. A grin tugged at her lips, seeing the way Jeff’s jaw clenched with annoyance.

“He just...never did anything with his life, I guess,” Jeff said. “And with him gone, I’m the one who’s done  _ next  _ to nothing with his life.”

“Well that’s not true,” Britta said matter-of-factly. “You’ve helped a lot of people at Greendale. You’re the only one to rescue me from a failed date.”

“Failed date?” Jeff's attention was suddenly entrapped. “With whom?”

“Just this...guy I met on an app,” Britta explained. “He looked nice in his profile picture.”

“Nobody looks like an asshole in their profile picture,” Jeff cut in. He took another swing of his whiskey, then continued, “I look ruggedly handsome in mine, and I’m the biggest asshole you know.”

“Well, that is true.” Britta conceded with a smile. She laughed at Jeff’s scowl, patting him on the shoulder. “C’mon -- your family sucks, I got stood up...let’s drink it off.”

“I’m sorry, Britta.” Jeff said genuinely. “D-bag could’ve at least came and given you a coat. It’s twenty degrees outside and you’re dressed like a valley girl.”

“Again, biggest asshole I know.” Britta said with a frown. She watched as Jeff slid off his coat and draped it over the back of her barstool. “Chivalry doesn’t make it less true.”

Jeff rolled his eyes and returned to his whiskey, eyes flicking across the bar around him. Britta guessed it must have been a while since he’d been.

Then, something about Jeff still in his Christmas sweater, sipping his sad old man whiskey surrounded by other sad-looking men around him made Britta’s heart tighten.

"Jeff," She suddenly said, standing up from her barstool. "Let's not get blackout drunk tonight."

Jeff raised an eyebrow, sliding his mouth off his glass of whiskey. He watched as Britta gathered her purse and shouldered his jacket back on.

"Aye-aye, captain." He said, "But I'm already tipsy, so you're driving."

"Like I'd let you drive my baby anyways," Britta quipped. She placed a bill on the counter for Jeff's drink.

Jeff stood from his own seat, shooting Britta a scandalized look. "It's a 2008 electric hybrid-- not a Tesla, you know."

"You get to be protective of your car, I get to be protective of mine." Britta replied evenly. She smirked as Jeff darted in front of her to get the door -- either out of habit or as part of a joke, she couldn't tell.

"It's freezing out," Jeff commented as they exited into the brisk air. A light snowfall had started while they were in the bar.

"Shouldn't have given up your jacket," Britta teased. She fished her keys from her pocket and unlocked her car with a beep.

"Wipe your feet!" She called as she entered the driver's seat.

"Well, obviously." Jeff replied. "I'm not a barbarian."

Once the two were settled and the car had done a decent enough job of defrosting, Britta pulled out of the crowded parking lot. Golden-orange lights reflected off of the flurrying snowflakes and wet streets.

"Where did you say you were taking me?" Jeff asked. He fiddled with Britta's radio, hardly concealing his grimace at the preset indie music playing.

"It's a surprise." Britta replied. She smiled softly as vintage rock began humming through her speakers-- classic Jeff.

"Is it?" Jeff asked.

"It is if I just decided it is," Britta said, taking a sharp left into a slightly less dingy neighborhood.

"Day after Christmas," Jeff mused. "Aren't most places closed?"

"Well,  _ most places _ aren't having an end of year blowout sale." Britta replied smartly.

Jeff considered this. "I...think they probably are."

His eyes drifted up to the store now in front of them. The interior was lit with bright fluorescents, and the large windows were painted to emphasize their apparent going-out-of-business sale.

“Why are mattress places always going out of business?” Jeff asked.

Britta sucked at her teeth, thinking it over. “Tough business?”

“Or they’re dirty liars,” Jeff proposed pleasantly. 

Britta turned to smile at him after parking, clicking her seatbelt off. “There’s the Christmas spirit.”

The two strutted into the store like a couple of mattress critics -- at Jeff’s half-serious suggestion. After Britta told the store’s only, rather tired employee that they were just shopping around, she dragged Jeff towards the Tempurpedic section.

“Do you actually need a mattress?” Jeff asked under his breath, keeping his arm linked with hers. 

Britta tilted her head to the side. “I mean, sort of.” Her voice pitched up on the last word.

Jeff fixed her with his best perplexed look.

Britta met his eyes and huffed. “Banana may or may not have...had an issue on mine while I was changing the sheets.”

“Ha!” Jeff grinned self-righteously, jostling Britta’s arm a little in victory. “What did I tell you about getting a diabetic cat?”

Britta tugged her arm free with a scowl. “It’s Christmas, I couldn’t just leave him in the shelter.”

“Lie down with dogs,” Jeff quoted to her. He squinted at a mattress in front of them, checking out its price tag.

“I didn’t lie down with dogs.” Britta grumbled. “If anything, the saying should be ‘lie down with cats, wake up with piss’.” 

Jeff turned to her with a bemused smile. “Never change, Britta.”

Britta smiled back before taking a seat on the mattress, bouncing a bit in place. “Oof,” She commented. “Feel how firm this is.”

Jeff sat beside her and grunted in solidarity. “Are they  _ trying _ to give people back lumps?”

“Those exist?” Britta asked. She switched to the next mattress over, looking similarly dissatisfied.

Jeff nodded, before squinting with hesitation. “Maybe I had a different problem.”

Britta snorted at him, once again switching to a mattress across from them. She fell onto her back, letting out a contented “Oooh.”

“Find a winner?” Jeff lied down beside her curiously, shimmying into the mattress. “Too soft.”

Britta scoffed, propping herself up on her elbows. Her hair flipped up comically with her, the bouncing curls emphasizing her indignation. “Too soft?”

“You need support,” Jeff explained. He stood up himself and offered a hand to pull Britta up. “Let’s check the clearance.”

Britta grasped his hand and pulled herself up. “I don’t know if big-time mattress critics would check the clearance.”

“The store closes in forty minutes,” Jeff noted, “We’re on a rush job.”

“We don’t have to get it today,” Britta said, mostly to herself. She trailed Jeff to some mattresses marked with absurdly bright red SALE stickers.

“Friends don’t let friends sleep on cat pee beds.” Jeff countered. A label on one of the mattresses caught his eye just then, and like a hawk he descended upon it. 

“Britta,” he said in his most serious, deadpan voice. “Come sit down.”

“I’m coming,” Britta replied, half excited and half scared. “What—“

As she laid down, she cut off her own speech with a contented sigh. “Is this what you were talking about?”

“Exactly,” Jeff confirmed. He sat up and a smile spread across his face at Britta’s totally relaxed state, flopped out on the mattress with Jeff’s jacket and her hair splayed out beneath her.

“How much?” She asked with her eyes still closed.

Jeff’s eyes flicked to the digital price tag on the display. He exhaled. “Wait here.”

By the time Jeff returned with the store clerk, Britta gathered that he must have been launching a litany of complaints the whole way back. 

“Britts,” He addressed solemnly, “Tell him what you told me. About the wet spot.”

Britta blinked in hesitation before catching on. “Oh! We found a-- a wet spot, right here under the mattress.” She stood up and reached her hand beneath the mattress for a moment, nodding. 

“See,” Jeff said, “I thought it might have been from being brought in from outside. It rained last night, you know.”

The store clerk nodded with such concern that Britta almost believed it too. 

With a passing glance at the price tag, Britta linked her arm with Jeff’s. “It’s eight hundred here, but I think we could get the same thing for less at IKEA. Without the damage.”

Jeff eyed the store clerk expectantly. “My wife and I are moving this week, we need to get a bed in there as soon as possible.” 

The store clerk cleared his throat --a young twenty-something year old, who was not so subtly smoking a joint on his break. “It’s actually on clearance,” He explained, “It’s uh, six hundred.”

Jeff and Britta, as if on cue, met each other with wholly unimpressed looks. 

Britta sighed, “I don’t want to wait all night, honey.”

Jeff nodded his understanding. “I’ll go warm up the car.”

Just as Jeff turned to leave, the clerk called, “Wait! I could offer you guys a discount. For the wet spot.” He swallowed almost nervously, and Britta couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or horrified by Jeff’s influence.

Jeff crossed his arms with intrigue. “How much?”

“Fifteen percent?” The employee said hopefully, like a question instead of a store policy.

“Thirty or we walk.” Britta said definitively.

-

“Jeff,” Britta whined. “I told you I could get it.”

  
Jeff took a break from hefting her mattress up the stairs, leaning heavily on it. “I didn’t say you couldn’t  _ help _ .”

“Oh -- yeah.” Britta picked up the higher end of the mattress. “On three?”

Jeff sighed and the two resumed their journey. “I just don’t want you crushed by a bed, Britta.”

“Aw,” Britta replied, out of breath, as they turned a corner. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

They managed to work together long enough to get the mattress inside Britta’s apartment, whereupon Jeff set it down and collapsed on Britta’s couch.

“Yeah, make yourself right at home.” Britta commented retroactively.

“You live like this?” Jeff asked, out of breath. “Your living room looks like a laundromat.”

Britta gave him a defensive frown. “So it’s been a while since I’ve had company, sue me.”

Jeff brushed his hand over the top of her couch. “And there’s enough cat hair on this thing to make a sweater.”

“If I serve alcohol, will you stop being a terrible houseguest?” Britta asked.

Sure enough, Jeff whipped his head around to see Britta at her fridge, bottle of champagne in hand.

“Be my guest.”

“You’re-- you’re literally  _ my _ guest.” Britta sighed in frustration.

Jeff ignored this, strutting to Britta’s tiny kitchen counter. “What’s the occasion?”

Britta shrugged, popping the bottle unceremoniously and giving them each a generous pour. “Screwing over a sales guy.”

“He had it coming,” Jeff replied. He nudged Britta’s hand on the bottle to pour more in his glass, then continued, “Dude’s name is Gerald and he thinks he can give customers a hard time.”

“Weird burn, Jeff.” Britta clinked her glass with his, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jeff echoed. He took his first sip at the same time as Britta, smiling against the glass at her spilling some on her shirt.

An hour later, the two wound up in Britta’s laundry room, with Jeff rambling on about his oh-so-efficient methods while Britta sat on the dryer, legs swinging back and forth. Jeff had insisted on taking care of some of the living room mess.

After he’d put together a load and turned the machine on, Britta hopped down. 

“I think I’m buzzed enough now to change out the beds.” She announced.

“Ugh--” Jeff sighed. “Right now?”

“Hey,” Britta argued, poking Jeff in the chest. “You’re in no shape to drive home, so we gotta do this for both of us.”

She was already in her bedroom by the time Jeff called, “You think I’m in shape to lug more mattresses?”

Jeff only made it through with Britta’s tipsy humming throughout, including an improvised song about dumpsters she made up while he hauled a cat-piss soaked mattress into the apartment complex’s garbage.

“Britta, please,” He said with feigned annoyance, “It is one A.M.”

Britta responded with a placating smile, offering her hand. “We’re almost done, I’ll carry you up.”

Her version of carrying him up was one arm wrapped loosely around his shoulders, weighing him down more than helping him up the stairs. Jeff appreciated the sentiment.

As they reached Britta’s door, she suddenly shoved Jeff’s shoulder in realization. “Dude!”

Jeff was fumbling with her keys, his cognitive functions a bit impaired. “What?”

“We should’ve taken the elevator!” Britta lamented.

A more sober Jeff probably would have launched into an angry rant. “How do you forget that your own  _ apartment complex  _ has an elevator?”

Britta shook her head and stared solemnly down at the floor. “I dunno,” She mumbled.

Finally, Jeff managed to get them back in the apartment. Britta’s incontinent cat was already fast asleep on the couch.

“Please don’t tell me I have to sleep there.” He gave Britta a desperate look.

“Obviously not,” Britta smirked a little at the thought. “You do my laundry, you can stay in my bed.”

“Square deal.” Jeff replied.

Within ten minutes, Jeff was sprawled across Britta’s new bed, which was done up in freshly-washed sheets (courtesy of Winger). His phone had died hours ago, so he busied himself with snooping around Britta’s bedside tables.

“Hey!” A voice called from the master bathroom, muffled by an electric toothbrush, “Invasion of privacy!”

“Last time I was here I saw your Diva cup on the dish rack!” Jeff retorted loudly.

“It was drying!” Britta yelled back.

Jeff rolled his eyes and settled on flicking through her high school yearbook. He needed  _ some  _ kind of distraction from the fact that he was skipping his twenty-step nighttime routine. He doubted Britta even owned a night cream.

“Hey,” Britta emerged clad in pajamas and bare-faced, “What the hell are you up to?”

“Just some light reading,” Jeff replied innocently. He angled his body away when Britta sat down next to him.

Still, she caught a glimpse of the cover and snorted. “You’re not gonna embarrass me. I’m  _ proud _ of my sophomore photo.”

“I’m sure Black Sabbath was proud of it too.” He flashed the pages to her, “You look like the cover of Death Weekly.”

Britta wrinkled her nose. “Not your best burn, Winger.”

“Oh, gimme a break.” Jeff snapped the book shut and dropped it on the ground. “I’m drunk.”

“You’re tipsy at best.” Britta countered. She leaned herself on Jeff’s side and sniffed at his chin. “You don’t even have whiskey breath.” 

Jeff made a low-effort attempt to shake her off. “It would be champagne.”

“I bought that champagne for my parents.” Britta blurted.

Jeff glanced down at her, still leaned on his shoulder. “They came over?”

“They were going to.” Britta pressed her cheek against Jeff’s arm, clearly depressed by this new train of thought. “I cooked some vegan dinner and everything.”

Jeff bit back a jab at veganism. “What happened?”

“They cancelled last-minute.” Britta smiled sadly. “Said I was welcome to come over, but they just weren’t interested in doing the holidays  _ here _ .”

“As in, your way.” Jeff finished. He was careful to deal out his annoyingly neverending connections to Britta in small amounts -- a little when she was dealing with family problems, a little on the nights when he regretted not going to university.

“Guess we both had shitty holidays, huh?” Britta said around a yawn.

Jeff nodded. “It’s not the same,” he mused, “With everyone out of town.”

“We should just do the holidays together.” Britta joked.

Jeff sat up, effectively forcing Britta to do the same. “Why not?” He asked seriously.

Britta’s surprised expression turned into a grin. “Yeah,” she parroted, “Why not, right?”

Jeff sported an excited smile of his own. “Both our families suck, we’re the only ones still here...”

  
“We can just cook for ourselves, since you only eat ribs and I can only eat, like, potatoes.” Britta added. 

“You probably have  _ so  _ many vitamin deficiencies, Britta.” Jeff teased.

“Which is worse than high blood pressure how?”

The two stared each other down for a moment, before once again breaking into giggles.

“Alright, fair.” Jeff leaned back in defeat. “We’re both gonna die in our fifties.”

“On the same day, though.” Britta said. “You’re not leaving me here.”

Jeff cocked an eyebrow. “You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think you’re leaving me here.”

Britta chuckled. “Right. Same day.”

“Same day.” Jeff agreed. “Romeo and Juliet style.”

Britta covered another yawn, the 2 A.M. drowsiness finally setting in. “That’s not at all how they died, Jeff.”

“The high school dropout is gonna lecture me about Shakespeare?”

“High school dropout’s gonna kick your ass if you don’t go to sleep.” Britta replied. She crawled out of bed to turn out the lights.

“Hey, Britta?” Jeff asked. Being enshrouded in darkness had apparently given him one last bit of courage.

Britta responded by flopping back down on the bed and making a “Hmm?” sound.

“Do you mean that stuff, seriously?”

“What?” Britta muttered, fast approaching sleep.

“Being here. When we’re fifty.” Jeff clarified.

“Do I mean the stuff I said thirty seconds ago?” Britta sighed and rolled onto her back. “Yeah.”

Jeff contemplated for a second, and in a decisively  _ Fuck it  _ moment, turned to face Britta. He could barely see her face in the dark. 

“I think I actually do wanna be fifty with you.”

Britta blinked back at him. “You wanna rephrase that?”

“I’m trying.” Jeff pushed through his weariness and buzz, “I think I would’ve fallen apart if you’d left, too.”

“Well that’s...really vulnerable. Did you hit your head?”

“Britta,” Jeff replied, more desperately than he’d intended. “I’m still in love with you.”

Britta let out a heavy-handed sigh and buried her face in her pillow. “We had to do this  _ now _ ?”

Jeff nudged her shoulder. “We?”

“It’s two-thirty in the morning, I can’t see anything, and you confess  _ now _ ?”

“Hey, you know what?” Jeff quipped, “At least we’re not at a  _ party  _ in front of a hundred people.”

“Ugh, get over that, Jeff,” Britta flopped back upright and lightly smacked his arm. “That was so seven years ago.”

“Brits,” Jeff interjected seriously. “Please?”

“Yes, Jeff.” Britta replied in exasperation. “Fucking-- duh, I’m in love with you. You’re in my bed.”

Jeff was stopped mid-motion by Britta grabbing his arm. “Do not fist-pump that.”

“I love you,” Jeff said through a chuckle. His heart did a funny series of flips, finally being able to hear that out loud.

“Love you too.” Britta’s grip on his arm slid down until she was grasping his hand. “Go to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you somehow made it this far, thank you for reading! Community really made my year in 2020, so I had to write a little tribute to the pairing that could've been. Of course, I meant to post when it was actually December, but let's just call this ten months early.
> 
> If you enjoyed, leaving a comment would make my day!


End file.
